Of Muddy Boots and Dripping Hair

Hakkai/Gojyo

M

When one looks to the sky and sees stars he thinks the world is beautiful, that nothing can harm him; that he is safe.

When one sees clouds he is forlorn and huddles down into his jacket, bracing himself for the storm he feels growing.

When he sees rain he shrivels in upon himself like a mossy fern, arms thin and stick like but strong enough to be unbending, wrapped around a heaving chest to tight with lack of air.

And when there is sun he blinks and tries to touch the heavens, reaching ever forward; up, up, up he stretches, pulling himself near in two to meet the heated surface that scorches his flesh and makes his heart race ever faster.

He pauses, one hand sudded with dish soap, fingers pressing into the dark green sponge, the other clutching the sill in a bone white grip that leaves him panting out of breath as his knees quake and his pulse ratchets up closer to apoxia and darkness.

He sucks in the heated air of the sink, holds it behind his teeth and tries not to shudder as something sharp and hot digs a bit deeper into his soul. It's taken so long, been so hard to figure out how to go on, knowing it would never stop, and yet still, nothing could push it forward. A holding game, but one he knew well, and had thought he'd learned to deal with.

Of course he had to go and ruin things. It's not that he's done it knowingly, or even maliciously, he just has, and that's worse than anything else because he's not sure what to do about it.

Heavy eye lids slip shut and that trapped breath is finally expunged from his body. Erased from existence like the moisture at the corner of his panting mouth being whipped away by the callused pad of another's' thumb.

'You've ruined everything.' He thinks, slightly bemused, slightly annoyed…mostly terrified. 'You've ruined all my hard work.' But what he actually says comes out as a sibilant yes and please and more.

Later, when the moon is high and the stars are winking at him through the cracked panes of their bedroom window, when he realizes the dishes are still soaking in cold, dirty water and their clothes are strewn about hither and thither….

After he manages to pull himself out of the mountain of blankets and searches groggily for his glasses, or a tissue, both vying for supremacy on his 'first thing to do' list….

When he finally pulls the sticky wet mass of crimson hair out of his eyes and mouth and finally looks around he groans softly, lightly prods a snoring shoulder, kisses the little hollow behind an ear and whispers huskily into the dark…

"You forgot to leave your muddy boots by the door. Again."

How typical that all he'd get for his trouble would be an out flung arm dragging him back into the blankets and the sticky mess and sleep sloppy kisses and warmth.

'You've ruined everything,' he thinks, glasses smooshed between their noses and the pillow.

'You've ruined everything,' he thinks.

"Thank you."

~fin.